Furry Godmother’s secret to a shiny coat: Avoid Llama Mama drama.
Measuring llamas for leg warmers turned out to be easier than I’d imagined. The animals were beautiful and mostly docile, except one who liked to spit and gave me the evil eye. The drive was lovely, and Mrs. Hams’s plantation was nothing short of spectacular. She gave me a tour of the grounds and estate, then plied me with enough sweet tea to send me into one of my Civil War–era fantasies. My punishment came later, in the form of traffic.
According to the dashboard clock, I was late for my first committee meeting. Mom was guaranteed to hear about it. She’d want to know why I was late making a ten-minute trip through the District to Commander’s Palace, and I’d have to tell her I’d been halfway to Baton Rouge visiting the Hamses’ plantation. Then she’d kill me, and the llamas would never get their leg warmers.
I tapped my thumbs against the steering wheel and waited for the light to change. Cabbies and tourists crept, bumper to bumper, along streets most locals knew to avoid. I, meanwhile, had no other route options.
I left my car with the restaurant valet and hastened inside, ready to beg forgiveness for my tardiness and to promise free pawlines to anyone who appeared dissatisfied.
To my great relief, the committee hadn’t yet come to order. They were lollygagging and gossiping around a large table in a private room, sipping mint juleps and munching nuts and fruit.
I slipped into an empty chair and helped myself to a glass of ice water on the table. I’d nearly forgotten how much fun the proper ladies were after a few afternoon cocktails. District committees weren’t like the stringent events in Arlington, where everyone was in a hurry and the judgment never ceased. These gatherings were more social than business.
Seven women in pearls and fancy dresses chatted animatedly about their neighbors, family, and friends, utterly unconcerned with the time. In minutes, I learned someone was having a dinner party, someone else’s daughter was running for local office, and someone had bought the home on Seventh Street. Not much had changed in the last decade.
I shook my glass and readjusted the ice. No one had noticed my tardiness. It was a good day.
“The Crocker girl was arrested for murder.”
Hey! I snapped into the moment and cleared my throat. The table went still.
“Oh, dear.” Fanny Hesson pressed a hand to her throat. Fanny owned a riverboat, a sugar farm, and half the orange groves in Florida. Her abundant resources and no-nonsense disposition made her a natural leader. Her quick wit and shrewd mind had made her rich. “I didn’t believe your mother when she said you were coming.”
A rush of soft giggles coursed around the table.
I cocked my head and smiled as authentically as possible. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you for inviting me. And I wasn’t arrested,” I pointed out. “I was questioned after I called to report an intruder. No one knows why that man was in my store after hours. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?”
Fanny scanned the table. “Anyone?”
The committee stared wide-eyed. No one knew anything, but everyone wanted to get wind of any scoop.
Presley Masterson shifted in her seat, drawing the group’s attention. She fiddled with her pearls and leaned in my direction. “What can you tell us? You know, about the murder?”
The others fell silent, their rapt attention locked on me.
“Well.” This was my chance to make a public statement. A golden opportunity. Anything I said here would be texted and e-mailed across the District in minutes. “Not much. When I ran away, he was alive. When I came back, he was dead.”
Fanny shook her head. “The whole thing is tragic. Pearl Neidermeyer said that man was a heel.”
I hated to speak ill of the dead. “He wasn’t pleasant.”
Presley raised her drawn-on eyebrows for dramatic effect. “I heard he was a jewel thief.”
Fanny adjusted the cuffs of her blouse, feigning nonchalance. “My granddaughter knew him, and she said he was trouble. Bad news from up north.”
“Noooo,” the ladies responded in near unison. A few faces turned my way. I had just come from up north.
I wiggled a finger at a passing waitress. “I’ll have what they’re having.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She spun and disappeared through the nearest archway.
“Is that true?” Fanny’s voice ratcheted an octave.
“What?” I startled.
“The man attacked you? You hit him with a gun?”
“No. Of course not. He came at me, and I sprayed him with my glitter gun. I’ve never hit anyone.” Outside of the self-defense courses I’d taken in Virginia.
She pursed her deeply creased lips. Fifty years of smoking had made an impact even plastic surgery couldn’t wholly erase.
“Glitter!” Another round of quiet laughter swept over the table.
I turned in my seat, hoping the waitress would return soon with that drink.
A petite blonde in a baby-doll sundress and Chanel sunglasses breezed past me to say hello to Fanny, kissing her cheeks.
The waitress followed her as far as my chair. “Your mint julep.”
“Thank you.”
I kept an eye on the blonde. She was young to be at a meeting like this one. Every woman at the table had at least two decades on me, and I was thirty. The girl chitchatting with Fanny wasn’t more than twenty-five and could probably pass for high school with less makeup. Could she be the granddaughter who knew Miguel?
Fanny brought the meeting to order and passed a stack of floral folders around the table clockwise. Matching pens clung to the covers.
I opened my folder and stole another look at the girl beside Fanny.
“We’ll begin by introducing our newest committee member, Lacy Crocker.” Fanny motioned for me to stand. “Lacy owns Furry Godmother. I’m certain you’ve all heard of it.”
To my utter shock, the group nodded.
None of these women had ever stepped foot in my boutique.
A flicker of recognition illuminated the girl’s bored expression. She dropped her gaze to the table and fidgeted with her nail polish.
I forced a congenial smile while my heart tap danced in my throat. She knew me. If she was Fanny’s granddaughter who knew Miguel, then I needed to talk to her the moment the meeting ended. “Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”
The girl suddenly raised her eyes to mine. She caught me staring. Her face turned a strange shade of pink, and to my horror, she excused herself.
She was getting away!
“You know, Lacy,” a woman I recognized as Cecelia Waters began, “I could use a dozen star-spangled capelets for the kittens I plan to include on my float.”
My brain screeched to a halt and put on the backup beeper. “You have twelve kittens?”
“No, but my float’s drab Americana. It needs some action, and everyone loves kittens.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ll adopt them from a shelter and find them good homes after the parade. This is fantastic. My float just became an awareness campaign. Do you know how many homeless cats are in New Orleans?”
I shrunk under her stare. “No.”
She slapped the table and her mint julep sloshed. “Me either, but it’s too many, and I’m going to do something about it.”
“Right on.” I lifted one fist in a weak power-to-the-people move.
I glanced at Fanny. “Excuse me. I need a quick break.” I dashed down the narrow hall where the blonde had disappeared as fast as etiquette allowed and swung the restroom door open with a silent prayer. Fanny’s blonde friend stood at the mirror applying lip gloss. She was younger than I’d originally guessed, probably still in college. She eyed me warily in the mirror’s reflection as I scurried past, checking under stalls for feet.
The girl stuffed her lip gloss into a tiny clutch. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure we’re alone. I want to ask you a question. Privately.”
She spun slowly to face me.
“Are you Fanny’s granddaughter?”
“Yes. I’m Emerson Hesson.”
I shifted the words in my mind. Emerson Hesson. Another heiress in line to never run out of money. “How do you know about Miguel Sanchez?”
She blanched.
“Your grandmother gave us your very insightful input before you arrived. I can’t figure out how you and Miguel managed to cross paths.”
“I don’t want to talk about this. It’s not worth the drama. Nana hates how I spend my free time.”
“With people like Miguel Sanchez?”
Emerson tapped the end of her nose with one finger.
“Gotcha.” I knew firsthand what kind of community chaos choosing inappropriate friends caused. “Your family wouldn’t have approved.”
“That might be the understatement of the century.” She rolled her eyes and leaned against the sink.
Adrenaline spiked in my system. Another lead. “What was the nature of your relationship with Miguel?”
“He taught me to play cards and took me dancing in the Quarter.”
I blinked. “He taught you to play cards?” Confusion set in, along with the feeling I’d been away from the table too long.
“Yeah. You should’ve seen the looks on those uptight losers’ faces when they called the boys’ club for poker night and I showed up. You really should’ve seen their faces when I beat them.”
An irrational wave of feminist pride hit me on the head. “You won? How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand and one kid’s mom’s Birkin, but I couldn’t really take that.”
Good grief. This was definitely Fanny’s granddaughter. I checked the time. I didn’t want to be gone so long that I’d need an explanation. “Can you tell me anything that might lead to the capture of his killer? I met his girlfriend. She’s pregnant and needs closure.”
“I heard Mr. Tater pulled your store’s funding and you want to clear your name.”
I slouched. “That, too. Does everyone know about Tater?”
“Pretty much.”
Mable had apparently spread the ugly details about my shop needing support.
“Anything you can tell me will help.”
She pressed her shiny lips together, visibly warring with herself. Helping me, a complete stranger, meant helping Miguel but also possibly starting drama with her Nana.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I promised.
“Miguel liked to gamble. He liked to play pool for money at Boondocks. He took a lot of cash from this guy named Adam. I was there last night and heard Adam say Miguel got what was coming to him.”
“You think this Adam might have killed Miguel over bad billiards?”
“Miguel liked to hustle. Sometimes it went his way and sometimes it didn’t. I don’t know Adam well, and I don’t know how much of his money Miguel took, but people say it was a lot, and Adam has a temper. If he hurt him . . .” Her eyes welled with unshed tears. “Please don’t mention me if you talk to him.”
“I won’t.”
She dotted her eyes with a tissue and waved me away. “We’d better go before they think you’ve got troubles.” She gave my midsection a frown. “I’m going to text Nana and let her know I’m meeting friends. Your meeting is boring.”
I opened the door, and Emerson sashayed past, turning toward the kitchen instead of the dining room.
I returned to the meeting with an abundance of fresh energy. “Sorry. I had to take a call.” I took my seat at the table and did my best to look more interested in parade floats than pool sharks.
Furry Godmother was empty when I returned, except for Paige thumbing through a fashion magazine.
She straightened when I entered. “Hey, have you thought of doing a mock runway show and making pet versions of this year’s top lines?” She turned the magazine around and wiggled it. A group of bored-looking models dressed in Stella McCartney stared back.
“Every day.” I skulked past her and unloaded my purse. “I’m exhausted, under caffeinated, and in possession of a new order for twelve kitten capelets.”
“Aww.” She dropped her magazine on the counter and made doe eyes as she followed me into my office. “I love kittens.”
“Me, too, but this order has to get in line. I’ve got a six o’clock delivery in Algiers.” I hoisted my bag over my head and secured it cross body. “Did the security company come for the quote?”
“Yep. I put a copy on your desk. They said Mr. Tater signed a preapproval last week and they’ll be back tomorrow afternoon to get the system installed.”
“Excellent.” It was a little crazy I hadn’t gotten one sooner. If Tater refused to rejoin forces with me, I’d find a way to pay for the system on my own.
“Does it make you nervous to go on appointments alone after that ghastly note?”
“Yes, but life goes on, and the sooner I find out who’s trying to scare me, the sooner he can go to jail and I can get a normal night’s sleep.” My life had become a game of cat and mouse. If I hunkered down like a sitting duck, I’d be the mouse. Mixed metaphor, but regardless, in this situation, I needed to be the cat. Cats had nine lives.
“Anyone home?” A familiar tenor travelled through the air.
Paige perked.
I slunk back to the front and braced for anything. “Hello, Detective Oliver. It’s nice to see you today.” Calling him Jack in front of Paige seemed wrong, especially after the big deal I’d made about him being the enemy. She’d never let me forget it.
He clasped his hands behind his back and appraised me. “How’s the car doing? All four tires still have air?”
I smirked. “Cute.”
“Thanks. I’m actually here to deliver bad news.” He relaxed his stance. “The victim’s former partner didn’t check in with his parole officer last night, which makes his whereabouts unknown. Care if I take a look around in the back?”
I peeled my suddenly dry mouth open. “Please.” I watched him disappear into the room where I’d just been.
Why did he tell me this? Did he think Miguel’s ex-partner might be hiding in my stock room?
My mind turned to the Occam’s razor solution: Jack thought I was in danger.
The front door opened again, and my mother blew in like her pants were on fire. “My Chicks’ pianos aren’t ready. They were supposed to be assembled yesterday and delivered to you today, but they weren’t. The vendor says it could be another two days.” Her voice reeked of despair.
“Nice to see you, too. The meeting was lovely. Thanks for asking.”
She huffed. “You said you’d decorate the pianos.”
“I will. When are they coming?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” She rolled her eyes to look at the ceiling. “The vendor’s behind, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. We’ve set up a tour around the county, speaking to 4-H groups about raising chickens. I need the pianos and the tuxedos finished ASAP.”
I lifted my to-do list onto the counter. “Two days from now is perfect. Don’t worry. That gives me time to finish Mrs. Neidermeyer’s tutus and a few catering orders.” I jerked the notepad away, realizing my error too late.
Mom’s mouth popped open. She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Let me see that list.”
I shook my head and tucked the notepad behind my back like a toddler. “On second thought, I’ll work on your tuxedos tonight.” After I make a delivery in Algiers and then visit Boondocks.
Mom rounded the counter on quick feet and took a swipe at my arm, attempting to get her hands on the notepad.
“Hey!” I jumped back, startled by her speed. “You’ve gotten fast since I was in high school.”
“I do Zumba.”
“Well, don’t do it here.”
Her chest expanded and her face turned red. “Let me see that list.”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Lacy Marie Crocker. Are you working for those Llamas?” She seethed the final word, as if I’d done something as vulgar as joining the Manson family or the Democratic Party.
“Mrs. Hams came to me. What was I supposed to do?”
Mom’s jaw tightened. “You were supposed to politely refuse and show that harebrained interloper to the door.”
I dropped my hands to my sides. “I couldn’t refuse the job without a reason. I thought about telling her the truth, that my mom would lose her mind—”
Mom’s eyes bulged. “You can’t say that. She’d assume I’m too insecure or overbearing to allow my daughter to work for her.” Mom sucked in her cheeks.
“Do you see? I was stuck, plus she ambushed me. There was no time to set a plan for polite refusal.”
The color in Mom’s face drained from rage-red to something more along the lines of her usual peeved-pink. “Fine, but I don’t like it.”
“Noted.”
She cast her gaze back to the ceiling. “Can you at least make her products ugly?”
“No.”
She turned a tiny smirk on me. “Sprinkle them in itching powder?”
“Mom!”
She turned her face away. “I was joking.”
Jack and Paige emerged from the back. Jack offered a hand to Mom in greeting. “Hello, Mrs. Crocker. Everything okay out here?”
Mom managed to look quite pleased with herself. “Everything is grand.” Her gaze slid to me. “I’d like to see those Llama Mamas find a worthier pursuit than what we’re doing, educating hundreds of children on the importance of our local agriculture while endearing them to my adorable livestock.”
I faced Jack. Agriculture and livestock were a bit of a stretch for piano-playing chickens, and I wasn’t clear on how Mom was qualified to teach either topic. At least she was content and her Jazzy Chicks would win the round of Who Can Do More Good. “How’s my stockroom?”
“All clear. Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
He cocked a hip and leveled me with those icy blues. “Like you’re hiding something.”
“Have you heard of a place called Boondocks?”
That stretched Jack to his full height. “Yes. Why?”
Mom lifted one perfect brow and stepped closer to him, arms crossed, designer bag dangling from one wrist. “What are you up to, Lacy Marie Crocker?”
Great, she’d gone to his side. They’d unified against me. Exactly as I’d predicted.
Paige went back to flipping pages in her magazine. “It’s an Irish bar in the Quarter. They have a bouncer at the door, but it’s a little rough. Lots of locals. Still, I wouldn’t go alone.”
That sounded like the right place. “No. I wouldn’t. I just wondered.”
“Why?” Jack pressed. “What made you wonder about a place like Boondocks?”
“No reason. Curiosity.” I looked to Paige for help.
She obliged by dropping the magazine like it had burnt her. “Lacy! Your delivery for Algiers!”
“Oh dear!” I did a stage gasp a la Home Alone. “I have to go. I’ll get started on the tuxedos tonight. Everything will be spectacular. Let me know as soon as the pianos are built. They’re my new top priority.” I flung myself through the door and kept moving.
My phone buzzed with a text from Paige before I jammed my key into the ignition.
You’re welcome.
That girl deserved a raise . . . as soon as I wasn’t broke.